


Pride and Joy

by Anonymous



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-04-11 17:52:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19114738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: 'Everyone found out about Aziraphale and Crowley’s affair in the Spring of 1971. There was instant uproar, naturally. An angel and a demon sharing any sort of familiarity, let aloneaffectionfor one another was completely unthinkable. However, it had also never happened before, and so despite everyone, angel and demon alike, agreeing that the relationship was an abomination, they couldn’t actually pinpoint what was to be done about it.'Yet another fic where our favourite angel and demon duo end up raising the Antichrist. Only, they don’t actually realise it’s him.





	1. A Couple

**Author's Note:**

> Full summary: AU Aziraphale takes Crowley up on that ride he offers in the 1960s, and then they end up getting together. Soon enough both sides find out about them, leading to slightly uncomfortable circumstances for Aziraphale. They later adopt the baby they think is the spare who got mixed up with the other two at the nunnery. Only he's really not.
> 
> Of course I don’t think that Heaven would have actually tolerated Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship, but it had to work for the fic, so... yeah. Inspired by watching the show, I've read the book but don't currently have a copy, so please forgive any mistakes, plus I don’t know how much this would suit the book characters. Still, you're welcome to imagine them however you like!

Everyone found out about Aziraphale and Crowley’s affair in the Spring of 1971. There was instant uproar, naturally. An angel and a demon sharing any sort of familiarity, let alone _affection_ for one another was completely unthinkable. However, it had also never happened before, and so despite everyone, angel and demon alike, agreeing that the relationship was an abomination, they couldn’t actually pinpoint what was to be done about it.

 

Heaven was of course all too eager to neatly tie everything up and get rid of Aziraphale. He had been caught fraternizing with the enemy, and that was obviously a disgrace, but as Aziraphale himself argued, he had never even attempted to share sensitive information with Hell, he’d simply befriended and fallen in love with Crowley.

 

“This is a purely personal entanglement,” he insisted, nervous but indignant as he was faced by the archangels for the fifth time that week.

 

“Please, this is all far too disgusting,” Gabriel replied flippantly. “Do you remember nothing of the war?”

 

“But we’re not _at_ war now.”

 

“We’re always at war!”

 

“Well, _yes_ – I-I suppose so, but not officially! There hasn’t been anything I’ve told Crowley that would affect our side, and anyway he would _never_ betray me.”

 

“You’re a fool, Aziraphale,’ said Michael, smiling serenely.

 

Nothing that Aziraphale said or did could warm them to the idea of accepting his and Crowley’s relationship. However, it seemed that Felling an angel was either too complicated a business for the Almighty to bother with, or She was just uninterested in Arizaphale’s dealings with Crowley. It was left to the archangels to actually prove his treachery, and even when they found evidence of his meeting with the demon across several centuries, Aziraphale discovered that it was simpler just to claim they had been romantic engagements. He wanted to think that someone up there was on his side, but he knew it was mostly down to the fact that the Rules had failed to include romantic liaisons on its list of ‘don’ts’ between angels and demons, and as nobody could prove that the discovered meetings weren’t romantic, the angels were stumped. Nothing official came back on him, despite all the many reports and complaints about the unlikely affair. This, obviously, made the angels rather angry, but without any authorization to properly discipline Aziraphale, they simply took a leaf out of Her book and selected to mostly ignore him. He was excluded from meetings, informally banned from headquarters, and any calls he made to upstairs went unanswered. Now, nobody from Heaven would talk to him, except for the odd insult during the very occasional run-in. It upset Aziraphale greatly, of course. But, he supposed, he’d gotten off lightly. Perhaps he wouldn’t have done if the angels had caught wind of his giving Crowley the Holiest Water. He only wished he had some sense of what exactly to do with himself now. If he’d actually been cast out, he might have assumed that it meant he was to go to the other place – whether he wished to or not. Instead, he’d been left in a kind of no-man’s land between Heaven and Hell – he’d been left on _Earth_ – which was, in fact, fine by him and where he'd been for the better part of six thousand years anyway. But what was he supposed to _do_?

 

He wasn’t a Fallen Angel... so much as an unwelcome one.

 

“I suppose I ought to be grateful, really,” he sniffled, as he sat with Crowley in the demon’s car after the last time the archangels had laughed him back down (as much as angels laughed, which wasn’t that much – they were more smirkers than titterers). “It's just – Oh, Crowley, it was so horrible!”

 

Crowley, sunglasses folded in his lap and his yellow eyes fixed on Aziraphale, reached out with one hand to cup the back of his lover’s head and stroke his soft, white curls. “There, there, angel,” he said gently. “It’ll be all right.”

 

Aziraphale nodded glumly, pushing his head back slightly into Crowley’s touch. “I know – I know – I’m being silly.” He gasped fearfully. “But – dearest, what about your lot?”

 

Crowley retracted his hand with a small sigh. “They’re... perhaps a little more supportive – if you want to call it that. I mean, yeah, they agree that our relationship is an abomination, but when I pointed out that, as a general rule, Hell specialises in abominations they all just sat there grumbling for a bit. They also – ” He coughed. “ – seem to know about your situation, because then Ligur said that if I had seduced and corrupted you enough to get you barred from upstairs, then technically I haven’t actually harmed our side in any way. Then Beelzebub declared I’d done a terrible thing and that I should be commended for my efforts.”

 

Aziraphale stared at him. “Oh.”

 

“ – They didn’t commend me. We don’t really do that downstairs. They don’t trust me. Demons don’t trust. I reckon they just think the whole thing’s sort of... funny. Hastur wanted me punished because – well, he just likes punishing people.”

 

“But – you’re _not_ being punished?”

 

“No.”

 

“Good. That’s good.” Aziraphale slumped in his seat, his energy giving way to relief, melancholy; letting go of several months’ worth of fretting.

 

Crowley was still eyeing him sadly. “I’m sorry.”

 

Aziraphale shook his head. “What have you got to be sorry for? I mean – I’m sad, of course I am. I wouldn’t say that I shared anything of intensity with anyone up there; in fact I don’t think any of them liked me much. But... they are – were the closest thing I had to friends. And _family_ , I suppose.”

 

Crowley scowled. “We’re a family.”

 

Aziraphale looked up at him, his eyes shining. He gave a soft smile. “Yes, we are, aren’t we?”

 

“You don’t need them, you’ll see. I’ll look after you, angel.”

 

 “We’ll look after each other.”

 

Surprisingly, true to Crowley’s word, things were, pretty much, ‘all right’ after that. They certainly weren’t perfect, but the angel and the demon had found true happiness together.

 

After a week of staying in the safety of Crowley’s flat, Aziraphale made a decision. He decided that if She hadn’t taken the trouble to banish him, then he would have to assume he was still representing Her. He didn’t dare ask the Metatron about it, and it wasn’t as though he actually wanted to do bad now. While he was frustrated that the angels couldn’t broaden their minds just a little bit, he did accept that they had not accepted his choice to be with Crowley. And so Aziraphale continued to do good where time and circumstances would allow. Nothing too big, of course. He didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself.

 

The next few decades were interesting enough. Crowley moved in with Aziraphale to the flat above the bookshop, and continued to lie about or exaggerate most of his bad deeds at work. Aziraphale ran his shop and stopped people buying anything, and occasionally took the time to go off and do minor acts of goodness to try his best to keep the balance.

 

The first Pride event in the UK (called the Gay Pride Rally at the time) took place in 1972 in London, and Aziraphale attended, perhaps more through a sense of resentment towards his superiors than of solidarity with this oppressed group of souls. He wasn’t sure whether he and Crowley could be considered gay, because they weren’t actually men, but they were currently using male bodies to get about and were in love with each other, and people had made unfortunate comments about that fact as well as spray-painting them across the shop façade. They’d dealt with it together – Aziraphale just let Crowley be bad that particular time. However, many of the people the angel accompanied on the march had been rejected by their families or social circles, and soon he found himself chatting to as many people as he could manage, sharing his own experience (omitting the celestial and demonic details, of course) and receiving a whirlwind of understanding nods and comforting words in return. When he returned home, he admitted that he’d quite enjoyed himself. He didn’t go every year. Only the ones when he was feeling angry.

 

Most of the time, Aziraphale was honestly happy. Especially when it was just him and Crowley. Now that they didn’t have to pretend, they could enjoy each other’s company without having to constantly look over their shoulders or count down to when they had to part again. And if it stung a bit that the angels continued to blank him, he would just ignore it. Or attend a march.

 


	2. The Task

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the responses to the first chapter! The rest of the fic will contain some dialogue lifted from the movie and book, but hopefully not much.

 2008

 

 

The undesirable sight of Hastur and Ligur’s faces looming out of the darkness greeted Crowley as he approached. Whatever this business was about, he hoped it would be over and done with as quickly as possible. These two were among his least favourite colleagues, and he didn’t even _like_ his most favourites.

 

He casually evaded having to do the usual ‘hail Satan’s’ and wandered closer, made his excuses for being late, and then bullshitted his deeds for the day. He was abruptly cut off, however, when a large, lidded basket was held out to him, and he just barely stopped himself from recoiling. He could sense the presence of something within it. Something small and fragile that would not remain so for very long. Usually, demons spent their time escorting souls into Hell, not bringing them out of it. This could only mean one thing.

 

“ – Already?” he said quietly in awe.

 

Hastur leaned closer, his black eyes glinting. “ _Yes_ ,” he murmured.

 

“And it’s up to  _me_?”

 

“Yes,” growled the other two demons in unison.

 

“This... really isn’t my scene.”

 

“Your scene,” said Ligur. “Your starring role. Take it.”

 

He had to take the job, naturally. What else could he do? Crowley signed the document they held out for him reluctantly, watching as his signature scorched the paper.

 

“Now what?” he asked.

 

“You will receive your instructions,” said Hastur, his head tilted slightly, cold-eyed gaze firmly on Crowley. “And why so glum? The moment we’ve been working on for all these centuries is at hand.”

 

Crowley nodded vaguely. “...Centuries.”

 

He took the basket, the weight of it; the knowledge of its cargo making him swallow nervously, even as he echoed the others’ groaning about destiny and glory. He made his way back towards the car, opening the right rear door and setting the basket down on the seat.

 

“Oh, and how’s your  _mate_ , Crowley?” called Ligur, and Hastur grinned nastily beside him.

 

Crowley bit back a hiss as he stood up straight, glad that he’d left his sunglasses on so that they wouldn’t see his eyes narrow. He always closed off whenever demons mentioned his lover, for precisely the same reason he still had a flat across London that he used as an office; he didn’t want any demons bothering Aziraphale, talking about him or even thinking about him. Plus, there was also just not enough room in the shop.

 

“Come, Ligur. He’s not going to talk to us about his precious angel,” sneered Hastur.

 

“I’ll deliver the child,” was all Crowley said in reply, slamming the passenger door and rousing the sleeping baby within. He climbed into the car, started the engine, and drove away to the sound of ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ and the wails of a newborn infant. He swore furiously as reality sank in. There was no way out of it – he had the Antichrist on the backseat of his car, and he would be responsible for his delivery to the poor, oblivious expectant human parents. “Why me, why me, why me?!” he snarled, thumping the steering wheel.

 

At that moment, via BBC Radio 4, Dagon informed Crowley of ‘the reasoning’ behind his being given this task, and then gave him his instructions, almost causing Crowley to crash into a large truck the process.

 

Crowley groaned when he had all the information he needed, and steered in the direction of somewhere called Tadfield. What was Aziraphale going to make of this, he wondered? The angel was often understanding of his duties, but this wasn’t your average, run-of-the-mill wrong-doing. _This_ was bringing about the start of the end of the world. Aziraphale would hate it. Crowley himself wasn’t keen on the idea of a war, either. But, if he failed to deliver the Antichrist, there would be more than Hell to pay for both of them.

 

By the time Crowley reached his destination, the child was asleep. During the near miss with the truck, one of the lids on the basket had flown open, and Crowley flipped it shut again when he retrieved it from the backseat.

 

 

 

A flustered-looking man was smoking outside the entrance to the convent.

 

“Has it started?” Crowley asked him as he strode up the front steps, clutching the basket.

 

“Oh – yes!” stammered the man. “I think things were, um – moving along.”

 

“Which room are we in?”

 

“Er, Room Three.”

 

Crowley nodded and pushed his way through the front doors.

 

The place seemed mostly deserted. Typical, thought Crowley. He stalked across the large entrance hall, and then spotted a sign that read ‘Delivery Ward’. He pulled a face, and followed the arrow.

 

A woman was sleeping in Room Three, turned on her side with her face hidden from view, tucked into the thin sheets. Beside her bed was a baby, also sleeping peacefully in a cot. Crowley advanced, moving as carefully as he was able to, and made the switch of the Ambassador’s baby into the basket, and the Antichrist into the cot perfectly smoothly.

 

“Is that him?” came an excited whisper from behind him, and Crowley looked around to see a young nun peering at him from the doorway.

 

“Yep,’ he replied, as the nun quietly shut the door behind her and approached. Crowley picked up the basket, an awkward question coming to his mind. “...What about the spare?”

 

“Oh – I don’t know. I don’t suppose it really matters, does it?” The nun held out a hand for the basket, and Crowley hesitated before passing it to her.

 

“Oh – but you’ll take care of it, then?”

 

“Oh, yes!”

 

“Right, I’ll be off, then.”

 

Crowley turned and left the room, trying to ignore the nagging voice that remained at the back of his head.

 

Had he stayed in Room Three for just a few seconds longer, Crowley would have realised that Sister Mary Loquacious was under the impression that he had not yet switched the two babies, and would therefore have been able to stop her from making the switch a second time. He would also therefore, have still been present when Sister Theresa Garrulous entered the room, inquired as to why he’d brought the child to a Mrs. Young instead of Mrs. Dowling in the room next door, and there would have been at least a 70% chance that the Antichrist would have ended up with the intended family.

 

As it was, Crowley didn’t stay, and so the Young baby found himself being placed back into the bassinet beside his mother, and the Antichrist was again put back inside his basket. A few minutes later, Sister Theresa entered the room, realised that Sister Mary had allowed the Antichrist to be given to the wrong mother, ordered her out in frustration, and then wheeled the Young baby (believing him to be the Antichrist) in his cot into the room of Mrs. Dowling. Upon realising (or simply believing) that she had sent Sister Mary away with the Young baby, Sister Theresa panicked for a moment as she took in the two babies beside Mrs. Dowling. She called for Sister Mary out in the hall as loudly as she dared in case she awoke the two sleeping mothers, but the young nun was nowhere to be seen. Finally, Sister Theresa quickly acted by wheeling the Dowling baby out and into the room of Mrs. Young, figuring that as long as both mothers went away with a baby each, there shouldn’t be any trouble.

 

Meanwhile, Sister Mary did not fully understand _why_ she had been turned out of Room Three after having done such a good job, and was almost in tears as she clutched the basket containing the third baby, dragging her feet along the corridor. She stopped in the entrance hall; snivelling and wondering what she should do with the baby she still mistakenly believed to be both the Young child _and_ the son of the American Ambassador. This was where she ran into Crowley again, who also still had the issue of the spare baby on his mind.

 

“Listen – about the extra kid,” he said, still unsure of what exactly he was doing.

 

“ _Yes_?” replied Sister Mary moodily.

 

“Why don’t you let me take him? Think of it as a sort of drop-off and pick-up service, you know?”

 

Sister Mary considered it for a moment, before shrugging and handing the basket back over. She at least hoped the others would praise her for sorting this out for them.


	3. A Family

 

The sound of the lock going startled Aziraphale’s focus away from his book. He peered around the shelves surrounding his cramped office area to see Crowley standing in the middle of the shop space, his tall, wiry form dappled here and there from streetlight, and the rest of him shrouded in shadow.

 

It was hardly unusual for a demon to work nights, and it wasn’t as though Crowley and Aziraphale had anything resembling a set bedtime, even when they wanted sleep. But there was something about the late hour of Crowley’s return tonight, and the way he was hovering on the spot, that suggested whatever he’d been up to that evening had been something pretty unpleasant.

 

“Oh, dear,” said Aziraphale, gawking at him. “Is everything all right?”

 

“Well,” Crowley began in that blasé way of his, “depends, really. They gave me a job to do; I did it. Went off without a hitch.”

 

Aziraphale nodded, putting his book down and getting up to walk over to him. “That’s – good, I suppose.”

 

“Yeah, all things considered.” Crowley bit his lip. “I mean, I had to sign a contract.”

 

Aziraphale gulped and leant against one of the shelves. “A contract?”

 

“Mm, didn’t really want to, but you know what they’re like. I went off, got my instructions, found the destination, did the deed, Bob’s your uncle.”

 

“Well, I mean – if you _had_ to, love, of course.”

 

“Should keep them off my back for a while.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Or another eleven years or so.”

 

“ – I’m sorry?”

 

Crowley heaved a sigh and removed his sunglasses, but his piercing, yellow-eyed gaze remained downcast and fixed on the things as he tucked them into his pocket.

 

“Darling?” Aziraphale said nervously.

 

Finally looking up, Crowley’s brow was furrowed in concern; his lips pressed together in a thin line. “I may have just delivered the Antichrist to the wife of the American Ambassador,” he said.

 

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, his body stiffening momentarily before he deflated and looked at the floor. “That’s – gosh, it’s really time?” he asked in a small voice.

 

“Apparently so.”

 

“And they gave the task to you? Is that _good_?”

 

“It’s a test is what it is. But now that I’ve done it – maybe? If kick-starting the beginning of the end of the world can be considered _good_.”

 

Aziraphale exhaled audibly. “...The end.”

 

Crowley moved towards him, and took the angel’s hand in his. “I didn’t want to. But there was no way I could get out of it.”

 

“No.” Aziraphale nodded in understanding and gave his hand a squeeze. “But – I mean... does it _have_ to mean the end?”

 

“Of course it does! It’s the Coming of the Antichrist.”

 

“I know, but – but _why_? We’ve always said it was such a silly idea, haven’t we? Why does it have to be so... _final_ like that?”

 

Aziraphale knew he was being ridiculous. The Apocalypse had always been part of the Great Plan, and they had long accepted that it would come to pass. He was just upset because he was happy here. And because he knew that neither of them was sure what a war would mean for their situation.

 

“It will be okay,” murmured Crowley, letting go of Aziraphale’s hand to wind an arm around his shoulders instead, and the angel was reminded of that day in Crowley’s car thirty-seven years previously.

 

“You don’t know that,” mumbled the angel.

 

“I’ve been thinking about it, actually.” Crowley cleared his throat. “About whether it has to happen and all.”

 

“But of course it does. You’ve just said it does.”

 

“I know. But – if there _was_ a way to stop it... maybe it _isn’t_ all that necessary.”

 

“Stop the end of the world?”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“Surely the only way to do that would be to stop the Antichrist from getting up here in the first place, and you’ve already seen to it that he has.”

 

“Oi – !”

 

“I know – ! I know you had to. I’m not blaming you. But _still_.”

 

“Well, what if there was another way?”

 

“Like what? Killing him?”

 

Crowley smirked and reached to give Aziraphale’s chin an affectionate tweak. “I must be rubbing off on you. I was _actually_ going to suggest we get to know him while he’s young. Try and influence him for good as well as evil.”

 

“ – _How_?”

 

“Get into his life somehow – masquerade as nannies or staff around him. Teach him, guide him. It would be like being godparents.”

 

“Godparents,” repeated Aziraphale, smiling off into the distance at the thought.

 

“Like the sound of that?” asked Crowley, watching him closely.

 

Aziraphale looked up and blinked in surprise at finding his lover’s face so near. “Well, I mean – Yes. I’d love to share that kind of... bond with you. If we _could_ , but what would my lot make of it? _You_ can lie and fact-spin all you want to downstairs, but it will be another matter entirely if Gabriel or Michael spot me hanging around the Antichrist. Assuming that they _know_?”

 

“I’ll bet they do.” Crowley’s tone had gone dark at the mention of the archangels. “They’re just as obsessed with the Great Plan as my lot – if not more.”

 

“You’re right about that. I just don’t think they’d want me getting involved.”

 

Crowley shrugged. “If they question it we’ll say I’m there for work, and you just wanted to balance the scales a little. They don’t usually mind – or they don’t seem to. And it doesn’t have to be full-time job, you know. We just need to get it into the boy’s mind that there’s more to life than darkness and wrongdoing and all the rest.”

 

“It’s a thought. And I would like to _try_ , at least.”

 

“So we’ll try. When the boy’s old enough to understand, we’ll go and meet him.”

 

“And I suppose... if upstairs have something to say about it then they can – actually say it _to_ me, at last.”

 

Crowley grinned. “That’s the spirit!”

 

“All right.” Aziraphale nodded, smiling wistfully again, before he frowned uncertainly. “The Ambassador and his wife; do they even know what’s coming?”

 

“No, no. The wife had her own baby this evening. I went in and swapped it for the – other one.”

 

“Oh, I see. And the Ambassador’s real child? What about him?”

 

Crowley shifted uncomfortably, averting his gaze. “Well, I actually, er...” he began, and coughed, “didn’t like the look of those Satanic nuns, so I thought maybe a childless couple might want him.”

 

“Oh – well, yes. That was kind of you, Crowley.”

 

“ – Don’t say that, angel.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

At that moment, there was a small but distinct squeaking sound, and Aziraphale’s head turned in alarm towards a large basket partially hidden beneath one of the book-laden tables. A basket that certainly did not belong to him. A basket that was _twitching_.

 

“Crowley, what – ?” gasped Aziraphale, as a whine emitted from the basket. He pointed at it incredulously. “What on Earth’s that?!”

 

Crowley patted him on the chest rather sheepishly, and left his side to approach the noisy thing. He grabbed the handle of the basket and returned, lifting one of the lids and holding it in front of Aziraphale for him to see inside.

 

The angel stared. Then he glanced up at Crowley, who was watching him cautiously, and then looked back down again.

 

“The Ambassador’s son,” explained Crowley, when Aziraphale didn’t speak.

 

“But – I thought you’d – ?” Aziraphale began breathlessly.

 

“Well, angel... I was thinking – I actually only know of _one_  childless couple, and that's us.”

 

Aziraphale looked at him, his expression softening. “Oh, Crowley.”

 

The baby, who had gone quiet at being picked up and suddenly introduced to the two new faces above him, began to whimper again.

 

“Poor little thing doesn’t have anyone,” Crowley rambled as he gave the basket some gentle rocking motions.

 

“Crowley.”

 

“He won’t even be able to trace his real parents.”

 

“ _Crowley_ – ”

 

“He’ll always be left not knowing.”

 

“Dearest – we _can’t_!”

 

The baby, his grunts and squeaks having been gaining momentum, finally gave a long, sharp cry.

 

“Who says we can’t?” Crowley demanded, frowning.

 

“Who says – ? Crowley, he’s human!”

 

“Well, I’m sorry, but there weren’t celestial or demonic options – or... well, who cares. No one’s going to hand one of the cherubs over to us any time soon, are they?”

 

“Are you hearing yourself? What were you thinking?!”

 

As the baby began to wail continuously, Crowley set the basket down on the floor, reached in with both hands, and carefully pulled out the tiny, newborn infant still bundled inside his blanket. “I – I’m not sure,” he admitted, awkwardly manoeuvring the child around until he was cradled properly in his arms. “But when I swapped them over, I just – There was always going to be a spare baby. I knew that. But once I was _there_ and I’d done the swap I just couldn’t get it out of my head, wondering what they were going to do with this one. I tried to just leave – but then before I knew it I was walking back inside and the nun was there with the basket, so...”

 

“So you took it,” said Aziraphale with a sigh, watching as the squirming baby began to quiet down again.

 

Crowley nodded. “Also, regardless of your understanding nature, angel, I knew you’d be upset with me about the whole kick-starting the Apocalypse thing. And I was thinking of getting you a present anyway...”

 

“And so you got me a _baby_?”

 

Crowley fixed Aziraphale with a look that was simultaneously remorseful and mulish. “I know you’ve thought about this. Remember when we met at that fair in Watford and that little urchin came over and gave you those flowers?”

 

“Yes, and – she was sweet Crowley, she was, but – but my goodness, that was centuries before we were even together!”  

 

“Yeah, but you and I were both thinking we should just pick her up and take her with us.”

 

Aziraphale spluttered. “I never thought about abducting her!”

 

“Not abducting. Adopting.”

 

“Crowley, we’re not like the other couples who live around here – we can't just – decide to become parents!”

 

“But we’re not like the other angels and demons, either. We’re different. We’ve  _always_ been different.”

 

“And we’ll be even _more_ different now. What on Earth will your superiors think?!”

 

“I don’t care what they think. Do you?”

 

Aziraphale hesitated, looking up and down from his lover’s face to the baby in his arms. Crowley was in one of his moods, and it was clear that his mind was made up. Denying him now would be extremely difficult, although Aziraphale found it difficult to deny him anything, much. Out of the two of them, the demon was, by far, the more romantic. His passion burned close to the surface of his skin, which was why Aziraphale thought it most prudent of the Almighty to allow him to keep his body. “No, but – ”

 

“Good.”

 

“Look, it’s not just about what other people think. Is us adopting him _really_ the right decision for this child? He’s human, we’re not. He’ll age and die before we’ve even gotten used to him! And if the Apocalypse is due in ten years then what on Earth would we be raising him for?”

 

It was Crowley’s turn to waver, and he glanced down at the snoozing baby in his arms doubtfully.

 

Aziraphale watched him sadly. “What will we do for him when everything ends?” he said.

 

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “If,” he said.

 

“Hm?”

 

“ _If_ it happens, then we’ll protect him. We’ll take the car and go somewhere else, far away.”

 

“Oh, _Crowley_.”

 

“In the meantime let’s _live_. Let’s bring him up together, and do what we can to stop the end from happening. We’ll start paying the Dark One visits in a few years time. Having a child of our own might help us understand him better. Or maybe they could play together; maybe our kid could influence him? I don’t know. And if it doesn’t work. If the end comes and war breaks out and they try to separate us when the time comes, we can say, ‘look here, we’ve got a kid and a mortgage and everything.’”

 

“I don’t think Heaven and Hell will respect that kind of insurance, you know.”

 

“They can stuff it, then.”

 

“Crowley, I’m really not sure about this...”

 

“Angel, we’ve known each other for six millennia, and been together for forty-one years. I think we’re ready for a child.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks sooo much for all the kudos and comments and everything! I'm really enjoying writing this. Hope all of you like this part too!


	4. Settling In

 

Crowley was perhaps a little more anxious than he was letting on. He had long known that he wanted to raise a child with Aziraphale at least once, but now that he'd managed to get the ball rolling, he was nervous that the angel would find a way to halt it. He knew he had to prove that he - _they_ \- could do this. He managed to persuade Aziraphale to hold the baby while he retrieved from his car some essentials he’d obtained on the way back. These included formula powder, bottles, nappies, some sleeper suits and more feeding and changing equipment.

 

Meanwhile, Aziraphale stood tensely with the newborn in his arms. The angel did not mind babies, but the small handful of times he’d held one before there had always been the guarantee that he would then be able to return the child to its caregiver, and he had never cradled one so young. He goggled as Crowley returned with everything and swept his way into the back and presumably up the stairs to their little flat. The baby grunted softly, and Aziraphale peeked down, anticipating more bawling from him, before tentatively following in his lover’s footsteps.

 

“He’s ever so fragile,” he said as he arrived in the kitchen.

 

Crowley, who had already boiled up the kettle and was rushing around the place attempting to sterilise a bottle, hummed in acknowledgement.

 

Aziraphale bit his lip and looked at the baby again, taking in his puzzled, wrinkled up face; his pouting mouth, and the minutely fine hairs on his head. “I don’t think this is going to be at all like caring for plants or books, you know.”

 

“It’s going to be a change,” Crowley replied. “But it can’t be that hard; humans do it all the time. And _we_ have our powers to work with.”

 

Aziraphale looked up sharply. “But he can’t know about us!”

 

“No – no, probably not. We can just...” Crowley placed a hand on the kettle to cool the water back down. “...be careful.” He picked the kettle up and poured the water into the bottle, and then spooned in some of the milk powder. He screwed the teat on to the bottle, and then walked over to Aziraphale, holding it aloft and shaking it with the kind of determination one might have if they were about to hit a tennis ball with a racket. And then he was offering the prepared bottle to Aziraphale.

 

“ – What?” said Aziraphale. “You want me to – ?”

 

“Yeah. You’re holding him, you feed him.”

 

“Oh – well.” Aziraphale took the bottle and examined the contents doubtfully. “That doesn’t look like very much, Crowley.”

 

“He won’t need much yet.”

 

Aziraphale huffed. “Are you sure this was all just a spontaneous decision?”

 

Crowley finally had the decency to look sheepish again. He cleared his throat and nodded at the baby. “Try it, then.”

 

Aziraphale had, in his time, bottle-fed a lamb, a litter of kittens, a unicorn foal, and three human babies. He understood what he had to do; get the base of the teat against the boy’s mouth so that he could properly suck, support his head, and make sure he was swallowing regularly. But he also knew, that by giving him the baby and the task of feeding him, Crowley was attempting to force the issue somewhat. When he fed this child, it would become very difficult to continue to try and talk himself out of this madness, let alone Crowley.

 

Crowley was watching him expectantly, but there was a glimmer of worry in his serpentine eyes, as though he, too, was wrestling with some kind of decision. And perhaps that was what made up Aziraphale’s mind for him. To think he might be causing Crowley any fear that he would have to choose between his lover or this child, or that this situation might have brought up those lingering doubts – that he loved Aziraphale more than Aziraphale loved him – was unacceptable to the angel. They had spent quite long enough dancing around their feelings for each other, and Aziraphale certainly wasn’t going to return either of them to that mental and emotional purgatory. That Crowley wanted a child with him was an honour, even if he still wasn’t sure it was the best idea. It wasn’t even all that surprising, since it was _Crowley_ who was always the first to stop and point out the ducklings in St James’s Park every spring. The demon had always liked children, and this was most likely his only chance to have one of his own.

 

“All right,” Aziraphale said finally, and moved to sit at the small table in the corner, dragging the chair out with his feet to make space for himself and the baby in his arms. The baby started his whimpering up again, and so he gently adjusted him to a more comfortable position, and then began rubbing the nub across the tiny mouth. The baby automatically parted his lips, allowing the teat inside, his features going dazed, and then he jerked slightly. He began to whine around the teat, as though in shock at discovering that such a thing as food existed, and indignant that it hadn’t been given to him before.

 

Crowley brightened visibly, and collapsed into the chair opposite, taking in the spectacle.

 

The baby kicked weakly and squalled, seemingly unable to drink the milk fast enough.

 

“Slow down,” Aziraphale said to him, waggling the bottle gently. “It’s coming.”

 

Finally, the infant was suckling happily from the bottle, and Aziraphale sighed in relief.

 

“See?” said the demon, smirking. “You’re a natural.”

 

“I’ve never done more than this, though,” replied Aziraphale sternly. “It isn’t going to be a walk in the park, my dear.”

 

“We should do that with him. Show him the ducks.”

 

The angel sighed. “What do you want to call him?”

 

Crowley tore his gaze from the child to look up in slight bewilderment. “Right – he’ll need a name.”

 

“You haven’t _any_ thoughts?”

 

“Well, not as such. I’ve never named anything before.”

 

That was true, Aziraphale supposed. Even the demon’s precious car was only referred to as ‘the Bentley’. “Really, Crowley,” he said, shaking his head.

 

“What do _you_ want to call him, then?”

 

“Me? _I_ don’t know. I wasn’t expecting to become a parent today.”

 

“Yeah?” Crowley folded his arms smugly. “Not that easy, is it?”

 

“Fine... how about ‘Adam’, then?”

 

“Adam? Why Adam?”

 

Aziraphale shrugged. “It’s the name of the first human being I ever met. Seems sort of fitting.”

 

“Human name, eh?”

 

“I think a lot of the more celestial names are seen as a bit old-fashioned these days, you know? A bit, erm...”

 

“Biblical,” finished Crowley, nodding. “I suppose there are still plenty of Adams walking around. And he seemed nice enough. Fine. Adam it is, then.”

 

For the first few nights, the baby slept inside the basket he’d arrived on Earth in. This worked out rather well for about two weeks, because he was happy enough inside it for the most part, and it also meant that he could be transported easily from room to room wherever either of his parents happened to be at the time. But Aziraphale and Crowley were soon alarmed by how quickly a newborn child grew, and an impromptu shopping trip had to be undertaken.

 

They purchased a cot, which just about took up what space was left of their bedroom – the only area in the entire flat that, at Crowley’s insistence, was free of books and had had a décor update when he'd moved in. Along with that, they also bought a car seat that doubled as a carrycot, a changing mat, and some toys. In truth, much of what they ‘bought’ was actually ‘borrowed’ – Crowley didn’t think that the massive branch of Mothercare would miss one or two display items for a few months, or found second-hand online. So many of the items would be outgrown within a year that Aziraphale didn’t see the point in buying them new. And, as he pointedly told Crowley, they would only be doing this once.

 

“Fine,” Crowley said moodily in reply. “But we’re getting that cot in the grey.”

 

Aziraphale also didn’t put up much of a fight when Crowley returned one evening with the vintage-style pram that he knew his lover certainly wouldn’thave forked out - what had to have been at least a grand - for.

 

 “It’s got markings up the side,” was Crowley's explanation. “They were never going to get it sold it at full price!”

 

 Aziraphale  _did_ rather like the thing. He imagined it made the pair of them look rather striking as they took Adam out for his first stroll in the park. Still, he made a quick trip over to the establishment the pram had come from and slipped a handful of notes into the bags of each of the two assistants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So glad people are still reading and enjoying! Thank you for everything :D


	5. Venturing Out

 

Aziraphale found himself coming round to the idea of being a parent, although he had his limitations. He still refused to burp the baby unless he had several towels or muslins draped across each shoulder first to save his beloved coat from any surprise expulsions. And he knew that Crowley, too, selected to miracle away the messes Adam left in his nappies. It was probably better for the environment, anyway. Still tiny, Adam didn’t really need much, and seemed quite happy enough with his round-the-clock feeds, changes, and cuddles. To his delight, the angel discovered that having a baby around the shop distracted any potential customers away from his books. For the mornings of most days, Adam’s carrycot sat balanced on one of the tables already laden with piles of tomes and manuscripts, and the baby would lie there, looking sweet and endearing for people to wander over and coo at.

 

“Sweet little girl,” remarked an elderly man one evening, the hardback he’d been examining lying forgotten on a stool beside the carrycot. “Reminds me of my daughters.”

 

“Thank you,” replied Aziraphale warmly, reaching into the cot to stroke a finger gently against Adam’s brow.

 

The man beamed softly at the sleeping infant for a moment longer, and then nodded once up at Aziraphale before turning to exit.

 

“People always assume you’re a girl,” Aziraphale mused aloud to the baby, as he grabbed up the book the man had abandoned and patted it affectionately, before sliding it beneath another pile of texts.

 

“Probably because he’s wearing a dress, angel,” said Crowley from behind his gardening magazine. He was reclined in a large, brown leather chair he’d claimed near the till point, as he often was when he hadn’t been called away on business. He had expected, in wake of delivering the Antichrist, to be summoned more frequently to do Hell’s dark bidding, and both he and Aziraphale had dreaded the next one. But nearly one month since then, and all that he had heard from downstairs was a brief, drawling, “Well done, Crawly, well _done_ ,” from Dagon over the TV in his office. It seemed that, once again, Crowley had managed to please his superiors, even if they _weren’t_ pleased about it. Even better, they hadn’t appeared to pick up on Adam’s arrival into their lives, either. And so, Crowley and Aziraphale had managed to indulge fully in the early days of parenthood.

 

Aziraphale frowned, thumbing at the voluminous white frill of Adam’s collar. “It’s not that it matters; I just don’t know why they’re so sure of their assumption,” he said. “I mean, _all_ babies wear dresses.”

 

“Mm – not for the last eighty years or so, I’ll wager. Everyone’s very into their gender specifics these days.”

 

“Gender? What’s he going to do with a _gender_ at his age?”

 

“Him? Nothing much. But it helps sell more toys and clothes, see?”

 

The angel sniffed. “I see. One of _your_ lot’s ideas, was it?”

 

“You bet.”

 

“...Well, it seems a shame. Infants do look so sweetin little dresses, and it’s not as though he can walk anywhere to trip over the hem.”

 

Crowley finally lowered the magazine to look over at them. The angel was right – in Adam’s case, at least. As much as it made his stomach churn to admit sometimes – their son was positively cherubic with thin-but-definitely-there blond curls, and soft, pink cheeks. He was actually starting to look remarkably like Aziraphale, which was no doubt why people tended to address _him_ while making any complimentary remarks about the baby, and also because Crowley frightened people with his sunglasses and tall, imposing appearance. Crowley was, of course, more than capable of being charming and alluring (refer to: an agreeable conversation with a young lady named Eve beside an apple tree in the Garden of Eden, and also a particular moment inside the Bentley with Aziraphale back in 1967), but fatherhood was making him wary of strangers. He, for one, wasn’t exactly overjoyed at the attention their child brought them, and perhaps this was why he was half-heartedly reading a gardening magazine as he kept watch over his family.

 

“That’s a new dress, isn’t it?” he asked.

 

Aziraphale blushed. “Er, well – not _new_ new.”

 

Crowley inclined his head just so, and the black, polished surface of his glasses flashed knowingly. “Ah, I get it.”

 

“It’s not – it wasn’t an expensive purchase.”

 

“Nah, ‘course not. As you said, he’ll grow out of it all soon enough. You wouldn’t make any unnecessary buys.”

 

The angel’s cheeks were almost puce. “Yes... and this one is very forgiving. He’ll fit in it for at least another three months.”

 

“From the shop in the covered market, is it?” Crowley raised an eyebrow and tossed the magazine to the side as Aziraphale hesitated. “Bit _exclusive_ , isn’t it?”

 

“Yes – yes, all right!” Aziraphale huffed and crossed his arms. “Why are you needling me? Are you enjoying this?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Aziraphale paused. Even with the barrier of the sunglasses, he could sense Crowley’s penetrating stare. It still held the effect of embarrassing him slightly, but now it peaked his interest, too. “ _Oh_ ,” he said, fidgeting on the spot. “Were you after anything in particular?”

 

“I have a few ideas, angel.”

 

“Well – I suppose we could...”

 

Almost as if he sensed the thickening tension in the room, Adam gave a twitch, a grunt, and then began squirming as he slowly awoke. The stuttering, broken noises continued to blurt out of the child, threatening something much louder and more enduring.

 

“ – But it’s dinnertime,” Aziraphale finished with a sigh.

 

“Yep,” said Crowley decisively, and stood to go and snatch the carrycot up. “He needs a change, too.”

 

“I’ll prepare the bottle.” Crowley began making his way to the back, and Aziraphale called after him. “Perhaps we could go out tonight?”

 

Crowley stopped and turned back to look at him, jiggling the carrycot gently to soothe Adam as he whimpered. “We’re not leaving him with someone else,” he stated.

 

The angel nodded. They hadn’t really been out except to go to the park and have the occasional morning cup of tea in a local café they favoured. And although he was also nervous of the day upstairs or downstairs noticed Adam, he missed dining out with Crowley, and it seemed foolish to stop when the inevitable would come, one day. When they first became a couple everything had been shrouded in secrecy, and therefore their ventures outside together remained the same as they always had; rare and usually whilst in disguise. And even when the powers of above and below found out, there was still the problem of living in an unenlightened world. Crowley was never one to back away from a fight, least of all against puny, mortal bigots in their fancy or not-so fancy establishments, but Aziraphale was trying so hard to belong that he’d found himself easily cowed into avoiding public displays of affection. But now times were changing. Now, they went on things called dates, although Crowley always said he wasn’t entirely sure they hadn’t already been doing so for the last six thousand without realising. 

 

“No, darling,” he said, and considered it for a moment. Babies were not _really_ suitable customers of somewhere like the Ritz, to his despair, but there were other places. “We could bring him along. Somewhere friendly, like that nice Italian place in Newman Street.” He shot his lover a meaningful look.

  

Crowley’s eyebrows raised above the glasses. “Oh, _yeah_.” He remembered how the night had panned out the last time they’d eaten at Rosa’s. It was either the food there or the music or the atmosphere or _something_ that had an invigorating effect on the pair of them. Of course, if they went there with Adam, things couldn’t go _exactly_ as they had then, but – as Aziraphale was so obviously willing to set something in motion... He smirked. “If you like.”

 

The staff of Rosa’s had taken a liking to Crowley and Aziraphale, perhaps because the two men always ordered a lot – particularly from the pricier side of the menu, _and_ they also ate every last scrap between the two of them and tipped well. They were also helplessly enthralled by Crowley, who was living proof that a demon could be gracious and appealing – and not just when trying to tempt people – and there would always be some furious, stifled giggles emitting from the kitchen whenever he was in with Aziraphale, who also held his own, special allure. The ‘funny couple’, as they were known, had always intrigued their servers, and being a family-friendly restaurant that liked children (or pretended to out of obligation, as in the case of about half of the staff), those who were working that night were surprised when the pair entered with an occupied carrycot.

 

After a flurry of excitable greetings and attention, finally Adam lay, quite content, in Crowley’s arms as they were seated at their usual table beneath an ornate, overhanging light fixture. The baby gazed up at it with fascination, occasionally distracted by the waving of hands and strange faces of the waiting staff, who had gathered to see him. Crowley meanwhile, sat up straight and stiff, eyeing the woman and two men grumpily.

 

Aziraphale watched him nervously. It would be a shame for them to alienate the nice people of this place. “It’s all right, dear,” he said, reaching over to rub his arm. “Let them see him, at least.”

 

Lucia, the head waitress didn’t seem phased. “It’s because someone’s a daddy now!” she said to Aziraphale, and winked at Crowley, whose jaw clenched. “I’m so pleased you guys did this!”

 

The angel smiled. “You should have seen him when we took Adam for his jabs.”

 

“Aw, well – that must have been difficult.”

 

It certainly had, thought Aziraphale. Crowley had bawled louder than Adam had, and they’d had to find a new GP. The last one was probably still getting nightmares, poor thing.

 

The evening did  _not_ end with drinking games, dancing, singing, and some careful memory-wipes and stomach pumps for the staff. However, it was a thoroughly pleasant night, and as Aziraphale, Crowley and Adam made their way home, they each felt a sense of tranquil happiness. And when, to his parents’ relief, Adam went to sleep in his cot without fuss, the angel and the demon were able to recreate the _second_ half of that infamous evening with astonishing accuracy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, so much for your comments and kudos on the previous chapter! I hope you're still enjoying. There will be a bit more of Adam growing up before we get to the Apocalypse stuff XD


	6. Unwelcome Visits

January, 2009

 

 

Aziraphale felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck as the shop’s bell sounded, and it wasn’t just down to the biting January breeze being let in. It was hardly unusual for people to ignore the ‘closed’ sign in the window (and it _was_ only midday), but that was usually when he’d left the door unlocked, which he hadn’t today. He swallowed. Crowley was out at the office, and he and Adam were alone. The baby was sitting happily in the crook of his arm, chewing on his rattle and occasionally humming to himself. Aziraphale tightened his grip on him slightly; his fear and dread mounting.

 

“Oh,” he said, when he looked up from his book and found Uriel and Sandalphon walking towards him. And perhaps he would have remembered to be more openly indignant, if he hadn’t been holding Adam. Also, given the breaking and entering, he’d been expecting one of Crowley’s lot.

 

“Just checking in,” drawled Sandalphon, as he and Uriel came to stop in front of Aziraphale’s chair, looming over him and the baby.

 

“To see if it’s true,” said Uriel, observing Adam with a kind of stunned fascination.

 

“Er – Uriel,” said Aziraphale, finally locating his words. “Sandalphon. I don’t mean to be rude, but I am closed. In fact, I _know_ I locked the door, as well.”

 

“Considering your... _lifestyle_ ,” said Sandalphon, “I’m surprised you bother with manners at all. It’s not going to save you. And now a human child?” He tutted. “Really, Aziraphale, you _have_ gone native, haven’t you?”

 

Aziraphale glared. Adam gave his rattle a shake, and mumbled something just to fill the silence.

 

“I was almost expecting it to have little snake eyes,” remarked Uriel, and then sneered at Aziraphale. “Such a shame you and Crowley couldn’t have one of your own.”

 

Aziraphale adjusted his hold on Adam, and carefully stood up. “I wouldn’t care what sort of eyes he had,” he replied smartly, looking between the two angels. “And he _is_ our own.”

 

“Of course you wouldn’t care. That’s what makes you a failure.”

 

“Among many, many other things,” said Sandalphon, shooting Uriel a grin before turning back to Aziraphale. “You know it stinks of evil in here?”

 

 _“Well!”_ spluttered Aziraphale, and moved around them towards the door, cradling Adam to his chest. “Then I’m going to ask you both to _leave,_ please.” He extended his free arm to indicate the door.

 

“Of course.” Sandalphon cast a disparaging look around the place, and then he and Uriel moved towards the exit. “Uriel and I have more important things to attend to, anyway.”

 

Aziraphale nodded. “I’m sure you do. Goodbye.”

 

The bell went again as the door opened of its own accord to let the two angels out. Sandalphon went first, and, as she was halfway through the door, Uriel turned back to Aziraphale. “Enjoy your little family while it lasts,” she said.

 

“And what is that supposed – ?” Aziraphale caught himself. He was dismissing them; he couldn’t let himself be sucked back in to their cruel talk.

 

Uriel smiled. “You see? You’ve been kept in the dark. There are things coming, Aziraphale, big things. Obviously not even your demon trusts you enough to tell you about it.” 

 

“And then what fate will await little Aziraphale?” came Sandalphon’s sing-song voice. “We’ve all been _dying_ to find out.”

 

“You didn’t seriously think you and Crowley would get to live happily ever after, did you?”

 

Aziraphale looked away from Uriel’s hateful gaze, and the door shut, leaving him and Adam alone again. He exhaled shakily.

 

“Well, that was...” Aziraphale began, more to himself as he looked around the place. He huffed. Crowley would go mad when he found out – and, yes, Aziraphale would have to tell him. After all, the angels _knew_ about Adam.

 

He still felt the peculiar feeling of being pinned by someone’s gaze, and looked down to find Adam watching him with rapt attention. The baby’s chubby hands were quivering slightly as they did whenever he was focused on something particularly new and interesting to him, making the rattle tinkle anxiously.

 

Aziraphale blinked. So did Adam.

 

He had the most striking impression that the child understood he was unhappy. And that it was the fault of the two strangers who had just left. He shook his head. That was ridiculous! Of course it was possible that the baby had sensed the animosity in his exchange with Sandalphon and Uriel, and was just curious about his father’s reaction. Aziraphale knew he probably looked shaken, and Adam could have cottoned on to that. But human babies didn’t understand the _complexities_ of these things, did they?

 

No, they did not.

 

“I’m sorry, dearest,” he said to the baby, and kissed one of his soft cheeks. “I’m being silly. Everything’s quite all right.”

 

Adam’s eyelids fluttered at the funny tickling sensation of the kiss, and gave a small, “eh” noise and shook the rattle again.

 

“Darling boy,” said Aziraphale, smiling at him.

 

He locked the door again, shivering as he recalled the other angels’ parting words. He felt reasonably sure that they had been referring to the Apocalypse, and had not been actively threatening to hurt Adam or separate them. To do so would surely be... if not a sin, then not _Good_? They could probably harm him if the End of Days somehow lifted the strange, legal protection he’d been granted so far, but not an innocent. Not even _them_. Because they weren’t nice. Even with the trauma of being discovered; of having to admit that he’d fraternized with Crowley where, perhaps, he shouldn’t – it had been a shock to discover just how... _horrible_ they could be in Heaven. Not like Crowley, who was so sweet and loving and kinder than any angel Aziraphale knew. And he didn’t care if even Crowley denied it; if they were brought before the court again, Aziraphale would make a case on his behalf, because Crowley belonged by his side in all things, and they had done _nothing_ wrong by loving each other.

 

The angel sighed and made his way up to the flat. At least Gabriel hadn’t been there, he thought. He hadn’t seen him since the trial. Sandalphon and Uriel’s open hostility might have been awful, but somehow it was preferable to Gabriel’s over-friendly smiles and his barely-concealed put-downs.

 

He fed Adam, and then decided to give him a bath, hoping it might calm them both down. The baby, although happy to be in the warm water if his excited, ear-piercing squeals were anything to go by, kept twisting around in the tub to stare up at Aziraphale. Aziraphale avoided his eye for as long as he could stand it, and then, after he finished gently washing his little head, he gave in.

 

“I really don’t know what to tell you,” he admitted. “It’s not as though your father and I didn’t know this would happen one day.”

 

Adam hummed.

 

“I’m perfectly fine. There’s nothing to worry about – for now.”

 

Adam waved his arms and kicked his legs, splashing water everywhere.

 

“It’s a very long story, the one of Heaven and Hell. Although – in a way, it isn’t. They hate each other. They hate me. And your father... sort of. That part really _is_ complicated. But it’s nothing for you to worry about, my dear. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

 

“Umm,” said Adam.

 

Aziraphale reached down and plucked him from the water, chuckling at the baby’s annoyed grumbling. He wrapped him up in a towel, and took him into the bedroom to dry him off properly and dress him.

 

 

By the time Crowley returned home, Adam had already had a nap and was sitting in the playpen they’d managed to cram into the middle of the shop floor. The baby trilled merrily when he recognised his voice, and began shuffling his way to the side of the enclosure and reach up, still not quite able to crawl properly.

 

“There he is!” laughed Crowley, and put the bag he was holding down to go and pick up his son and toss him into the air before catching him.

 

Adam giggled, his curls bouncing as he landed.

 

“Hello,” said Aziraphale, coming out from his office space to come over and peck Crowley on the lips. “Good day?”

 

“Fine, fine. I got Chinese.”

 

“Oh, lovely!”

 

They ate their meal with some awkwardness, as Adam, now in his highchair, kept fussing as he usually did with solid food. He had his own mashed up stuff from the shops, but like most children he wasn’t one to be fobbed off when there was obviously something sweeter and more fattening on his parents’ plates. Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to be irritated; he was actually grateful for the distraction from his own nerves.

 

Afterwards, they sat in their two scruffy old chairs as Aziraphale poured them a glass of wine each. Adam was standing – supported by an arm – on Crowley’s lap, and trying very hard to remove the sunglasses blocking the sight of his father’s eyes. It made the angel’s heart ache.

 

“Darling,” he said, as he placed the glass for Crowley down on a table between them, “I had a visit today.”

 

Crowley, immediately, stopped his playful avoidance of Adam’s grabbing hands, and looked at him. Instantly, the baby got a hold on the shades and took them off, exposing Aziraphale to Crowley’s serpentine gaze. “An upstairs visit?” he asked quietly.

 

“Yes,” said Aziraphale, nodding. “Crowley, they know about Adam.”

 

“When did they come in?” Adam gave a squeak and Crowley bounced him. “I thought you were shut today?”

 

“I was. They let themselves in.”

 

“They – ?” Crowley’s face was livid.

 

“It’s all right – they weren’t here for long.”

 

“But they saw Adam.”

 

“They already knew about him, anyway.”

 

“Did they hurt you?”

 

“No.”

 

“But they said things.”

 

“They did.”

 

“Bastards. What did they say, angel?”

 

“The usual.” Aziraphale put his wine glass down with a sigh. “They commented on Adam – more about us having a child, really. And then I told them to leave, and they said – Uriel said – ”

 

“Bep,” chirped Adam.

 

Crowley’s eyes flashed. “What?” he said darkly.

 

“They implied that they know about the Antichrist,” murmured Aziraphale.

 

Crowley grunted. “Well, at least we know.”

 

“Yes.” Aziraphale picked his glass back up and took a big gulp of wine. He smacked his lips when he finished, all-too aware of Crowley’s still enraged state. Even the baby had dropped the glasses and was staring up at the demon’s face curiously. “I must say, I sometimes wonder about your theories that Heaven and Hell are tipping each other off. I mean, I know they each have their own ways, but I can’t help remember when they found all those images of our meetings together – I mean who – ?”

 

“I can’t believe they just let themselves in!” hissed Crowley, interrupting him.

 

“Gah,” said Adam to Aziraphale, which meant, “Please take me, I don’t want to be on his lap right now.”

 

“I know – it’s – ” Aziraphale stuttered, holding his hands out to both calm his lover and retrieve Adam.

 

“It’s fucking out of line, is what it is!”

 

“Crowley, not in front of the baby!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks so much for all your feedback, it means so much to me that you guys like this story. I'm having a blast writing it! :D


	7. Making Plans

April, 2009

 

Crowley’s temper had remained unpredictable since Uriel and Sandalphon’s visit. He easily went into irritable silences, often ending up kicking at bookshelves and skirting boards while hissing his grievances under his breath, or literally burning scorch marks into the attire of anyone he felt was intruding. Before Adam’s arrival, he would usually have stalked off to go and terrorise the plants in his office, or some unfortunate stranger he deemed deserving of it. However, these days he was reluctant to leave Aziraphale and Adam alone, especially since the unwelcome drop in from upstairs.

 

It had become a little stifling. As any couple of forty years might agree, Crowley and Aziraphale hardly _needed_ to spend every waking minute together, and indeed both angel and demon each had their own hobbies and interests to pursue. Mostly, they relished in their shared company, and even when they tired of it they would still be content with each other’s mere presence, capable of spending hours (or even _days_ ) jointly in total silence. But Aziraphale simply could not relax when Crowley was like this; tense and often grumpy, always priming himself on the off chance they’d be invaded again. He was nervous of upsetting him, of inadvertently raising a subject that was still raw, or in some way implying that he wished to take Adam and leave the safety of their home – of Crowley’s protection. Which wasn’t _entirely_ untrue. 

 

They had discussed moving before, even prior to adopting Adam. But Aziraphale loved his bookshop, and it was really a most convenient way of storing all his favourite possessions while also attracting potential sellers. It was also his only address known to the angels, and while he didn’t exactly look forward to a visit from any of them these days, he felt it was important that he did not leave it – to show them that he was not running away. Still, he could sense that a change was needed; for all of them. Adam would not be tiny forever, and while he and Crowley were in the process of converting an old storage room into a little bedroom for him, he felt that the boy needed a bit more. (Also, as happy as Aziraphale was to deter the public from buying any of his books, having to pat down the smouldering clothes and wipe the memories of would-be customers was getting a tad old.)

 

Aziraphale made his mind up when one morning in the small hours, Crowley burst into their bedroom, back from a rare trip to Hell, and flung himself on top of the bed – and the angel.

 

“Oof!”

 

“Ugh!” Crowley snarled into the duvet, making no attempt to get off him.

 

“Crowley, what on _Earth_ – ?!”

 

“Sorry, angel.”

 

“It didn’t go well, I take it?”

 

Crowley exhaled loudly, and then turned his head, laying his cheek against Aziraphale’s chest. “Beelzebub congratulated me on ‘landing you with a child’,” he said dully.

 

“Landing me with a – ?” Aziraphale began, and then scoffed. “As in to say – you put one in me?!”

 

Crowley just gave a small grunt in response.

 

Aziraphale frowned down at the top of Crowley’s head. “They _do_ know that’s ridiculous, don’t they?”

 

“Of course. But they all thought the idea was bloody hysterical. Beelzebub even smiled.”

 

Aziraphale huffed. “What else did they say? Were they... aggressive?”

 

“Nah. But they were all so smug. Called me soft. Dagon was the only one to ask me why we adopted. I just said I was planning on using him to appeal to Warlock.”

 

“...Warlock? Who’s Warlock?”

 

“The Antichrist. It’s what the Dowlings named him.”

 

“The American Ambassador named his son ‘Warlock?’”

 

“Yep.”

 

Aziraphale shook his head. “What did they make of your plan, then?”

 

“Oh, they weren’t even that interested. I don’t think they’ve even twigged that Adam’s the Dowlings’ real son. Haven’t put two and two together. One baby is the same as any other in their eyes, I s’pose...” Crowley’s voice grew bitterer as he went on. “Anyway, our relationship is always game for a good _laugh_ for all of them.”

 

Aziraphale heaved a great sigh, and began to rub his hands tenderly along Crowley’s arms and sides. “Everyone knows, then?”

 

“Everyone knows.”

 

“Well, I suppose they were quicker on the uptake there than they were for us.”

 

They fell into silence for a moment, until Crowley lifted his head up to look over at the cot near the foot of the bed. “He still asleep?” he asked.

 

Watching him, Aziraphale tutted and said, “You’ve bent your glasses. And yes, I had to pretend to sleep for about an hour until he would drop off, but by that time I’d got comfortable with a book.” The angel cast a slightly annoyed glance at the edge of the mattress, over which the novel he’d been reading had tumbled when Crowley jumped on him.

 

Crowley snickered, bending a knee and sliding his slender legs up along Aziraphale’s body through the covers as he did so. “Of course you did,” he murmured, and removed his mangled sunglasses, tossing them to the side to join Aziraphale’s book on the floor, before he moved up a bit to start nosing at the collar of the angel’s pyjama top, seeking soft, warm flesh.

 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes – although this was not entirely due to exasperation. His lover did tend to get rather amorous after a stressful or upsetting incident, and in fact, their very first sexual encounter had been testament to this. He attributed the strange habit to a need for comfort, although Crowley would have adamantly denied it and claimed he was establishing intent, possession and dominance. It was hardly a problem either way, and indeed, Crowley’s desperate, troubled question of, “What do you mean by ‘too fast?’” back in ’67 had provided the angel with distraction away from all his previous concerns that rubbing their Earthly forms up against each other would surely be far too silly and awkward to ever go through with. Crowley had clung to him then; both frantic and determined, rather as he was now, and the angel was touched and enthralled at the reminder of that first time, and so gladly (and quietly) indulged him. But even afterwards, as they lay naked and panting together beneath the sheets, Aziraphale knew that Crowley’s problems would not simply evaporate after a good orgasm.

 

“Crowley... _Darling_ ,” he whispered, between reciprocating the soft kisses that Crowley eagerly persisted in bestowing about his face and neck.

 

“Mm?”

 

“I think... as everyone knows now... I’ve been thinking...” Aziraphale embraced Crowley’s long, wiry body appreciatively, encouraging him with soft caresses to finally lay his head on his chest again – positioned as they had been earlier, but now without the separation of clothes and bed sheets. “...We ought to buy a house... or a flat, perhaps, somewhere... away from here.”

 

Crowley, still valiantly attempting to kiss the small expanse of the angel’s flesh his mouth could reach, paused his attentions. “You mean – ?”

 

“I think it might help.” Aziraphale massaged the smooth skin on Crowley’s back gently. “Everything has been so tense these last few months. It’s no wonder, of course – _they_ all know where we live. They always have done. But having Adam changes things. We’re not merely responsible for ourselves anymore. I – I’d like to have somewhere that they don’t know about. Somewhere truly private.”

 

Crowley had been almost eerily silent throughout Aziraphale’s speech, and when he spoke, his voice was unusually clear; the richer, lust-addled quality of it diminished somewhat now. “If we tried to disappear they’d hunt us,” he said.

 

“I know.” Aziraphale nodded, raising a hand up to card through the demon’s hair. “I’m not suggesting you stop working, or that we get rid of our current flats, or move _very_ far away. But... maybe if we had some kind of retreat it might give us a little more security. Or peace of mind, at the very least.”

 

“So, what – like a holiday home?”

 

“Sort of... in fact, yes! That would be _ideal_. For the summer, and maybe Christmas?” Crowley shuddered, but Aziraphale continued. “If anything, Adam’s a growing boy, and it would be nice to have somewhere with a garden for him to run around in when he’s older. Somewhere with trees. Woods. The countryside. Somewhere you’d enjoy driving around in.”

 

Crowley gave a tiny, unidentifiable noise.

 

“And then you and I could keep this place and your flat as our offices.”

 

Crowley snorted. “And your libraries.”

 

Aziraphale blushed. “Well, yes. But that way, if upstairs or downstairs get in touch, then they’ll still have an address for each of us.”

 

Crowley pulled an interested sort of face. “...It’s a thought,” he said after a few moments.

 

Aziraphale tightened his grip on his slight frame reassuringly. “You’ll consider it, then?” he asked.

 

Crowley shrugged against him. “’Course. It’s not a bad idea. We might need to figure out the logistics a bit more, though, dove.”

 

“Naturally! I thought it could be a fun little project for the both of us, actually.”

 

“How long have you been thinking about this?”

 

“Oh, well... I did wonder if it might be the sensible thing to do after... after, erm... Well, anyway. That’s not important. And I mean I always wanted to take Adam on holiday, you know. But these last few weeks in particular, I’ll admit I’ve been worried.”

 

Crowley chuckled softly. “Can’t have you worried, angel.”

 

“ – And I know you have been, too.”

 

Crowley went quiet again, but the angel detected no irritation or resentment. “Where were you thinking?” he asked, finally, lifting his head to look down at the angel.

 

“Well, I thought you might like to decide, since you’re the, erm, ‘breadwinner’, as they say.”

 

Crowley grimaced. “I don’t think I’d eat Hell’s bread even if I did win it.”

 

“I meant... you’re really _needed_ at your office. It’s only fair you get consideration for travel and all the rest.”

 

The demon reached up to stroke his fingertips along Aziraphale’s hairline. “I know, angel. Hm, let me think... Countryside, did you say?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you thank you to all the responses to this fic. You guys have really made my absolute day, and I'm so sorry I've been unable to update this again until now. I hope you enjoy this bit too!! Thanks again everyone!! <3


	8. Moving In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, many thanks for all the comments and kudos and everything! Apologies that my updates have slowed but I’m definitely still here! In this part, the boys move into a new home, and Crowley has zero regard for listed buildings, but at least he gets shit done.

July, 2009

 

It was raining as the Bentley wound its way up and down the hilly roads of Lower Tadfield, emerging from lush, green woods into small neighbourhoods made up of idyllic cottages and the odd bungalow. Before long they came to the village’s centre; the church and war memorial on one side, and on the other, a string of little shops; the kinds of independent businesses that were fast disappearing up and down the country.

 

Through the water streaming across the windows, Aziraphale peered out at the passing buildings in curiosity. It was... lovely, he thought. Peaceful. The kind of place where absolutely _nothing_ ever happened.

 

“Where did you say you heard about this place, dear?” he asked Crowley doubtfully, without tearing his gaze from the window.

 

“I drove through it once,” replied Crowley casually, steering them into more residential area again.

 

Aziraphale suddenly had the mental image of Crowley literally charging the Bentley through Tadfield’s narrow, winding roads; skid-marking its pretty, old lanes with each violent twist of the steering wheel. “I’m surprised it stuck in your memory,” he said, looking over at him.

 

Crowley shrugged. “After what you said about moving to the countryside I remembered the woods and everything. Thought it might work for us.”

 

In truth, Crowley had recalled the village of Tadfield almost the moment that Aziraphale suggested the moving plan. It hadn’t, at first, been a location he’d really considered as viable, given the proximity of the Satanic nunnery. But, still reeling from the invasion of their home, the very next day he’d driven there to scope out the area, with a mind to investigate one of the surrounding villages instead. When he’d returned, however, he’d found the convent burned almost to the ground and abandoned, not a wimple in sight. He suspected Hastur; the work had his oily prints all over it, but he wasn’t entirely surprised. After all, he hadn’t taken Adam from there out of complete selfishness, and he once again thanked Whomever It Concerned that he had. And he realised, that if it meant they would be undisturbed, then Tadfield would, in fact, be a plausible destination to settle in after all.

 

He’d spent the following week checking the place out; and when he confirmed no other demonic or angelic presences, nor any former sisters, he’d approved it. The only other anomaly about the site was an American air base in Upper Tadfield, which he supposed accounted for why the Sisters of the Chattering Order had been placed there for the delivery of the Ambassador’s child, or possibly vice versa. He decided that Aziraphale did not need to know that the very convent he’d acquired Adam from had been positioned up on the hill just under a mile away. It would do the angel no good to fret over such things, and anyway, Crowley was confident that this would be the last place anyone would think to look for them. It was, in fact, quite a genius way of hiding in plain sight; almost directly beneath the ruins of a Hellish establishment.

 

The sleepy little community wasn’t exactly _Crowley’s_ cup of tea – hence Aziraphale’s surprise that he’d picked it for them – but if his angel wanted trees and peace, he got trees and peace. And he had to admit it might be a better place for Adam to grow up in. London had been fine for _them_ , but Adam was still very, very human, and fragile. London was too busy; too well known to angels and demons for him to remain completely safe from them. And besides, humans with the money were always doing this sort of thing, weren’t they? Quite often he overheard couples saying, “Oh, well, yes we _did_ both work in London and the money’s _fine_ , but when we had little Timmy we just really felt we _ought_ to move to the middle of the woods.”

 

Or things  _like_ that, anyway.

 

When they arrived at the house, Aziraphale got out of the car first, putting a large, black umbrella up and moving around to hold it over Crowley as the demon exited the driver’s seat and moved to get Adam out. He smiled, suddenly reminded of their first encounter upon the Great Wall of Eden, when he’d shielded Crowley from the elements with his wing. It had seemed as natural a thing to do then as it did now, and he watched fondly as Crowley miracled the fastenings of Adam’s car seat to avoid a fight with the wriggling baby.

 

“Thank you, angel,” said Crowley, shifting their grumbling boy in his arms as he shut the passenger door.

 

“My pleasure, dear.”

 

Crowley nodded at the modest-sized building before them. He’d drawn the line at having a home with a thatched roof; (a little _too_ chocolate box for his tastes, and a complete pain in the arse to maintain whether or not you had miracles on your side) and instead selected the early Victorian grey-and-red-bricked old vicar’s house. The irony wasn’t lost on him, of course, but clearly its original inhabitant had never thought to bless his own home, because Crowley was able to walk around the entire house without so much as a sore toe.

 

“Oh, it’s lovely!” remarked Aziraphale, peering up at it from beneath the umbrella and sheeting rain.

 

Crowley smiled. He’d known that Aziraphale would like it, but was still pleased to have it confirmed. He’d made quick work of the purchase; the unexpected discovery of asbestos in one of the back rooms had seen to that. Of course, the stuff had vanished completely by the time everything had gone through, (although he’d had to assure Aziraphale that the previous owner had two other properties elsewhere and would manage quite all right). He’d also had the old, leaky windows replaced and had the peeling, crumbling walls and ceilings re-plastered. Conservation was all very well and everything, but if Crowley was expected to live there, he required a particular level of modernity and comfort. Their circumstances forced him to place the same distraction effect upon the house as he had on the Bentley, but he’d have done so anyway, as the decorators had barely started when a Mr. Tyler had come poking around and threatened to report him to the local council when he’d spotted the double-glazing that had been installed.

 

With one hand, Crowley unlocked the front door as Aziraphale kept the three of them dry, and then they were walking over the threshold.

 

“Look,” said Crowley to Adam as he jiggled him in his arms slightly; turning him around to get a proper look at the house. Adam whined, still annoyed that the relaxing car ride had ended. Behind them, Aziraphale collapsed the dripping umbrella and put it in the stand by the front door.

 

“Oh, Crowley, you’ve done a wonderful job,” he said, ducking into the sitting room on the left and peering around.

 

Although it was Aziraphale’s first time there, the two of them had spent the better part of the last month picking out the furniture together, and so the overall effect was one of pleasant familiarity.

 

The sitting room had multiple shelves running around all four walls, which were already holding all of the books that Aziraphale had wanted to take with him. They virtually concealed the blue colour of the walls, but made it cosy and reminiscent enough of the bookshop as Crowley had intended it to. There was also an original fireplace with a favourite painting of Crowley’s above the mantelpiece, and a plush velvet sofa facing it. Behind the sitting room was a small but high-ceilinged toilet that had once been a pantry. On the other side of the house, the kitchen had once been a cosy little space facing onto the garden, with the far left wall crammed beneath the stairs, but Crowley had knocked through to the front-facing dining room to join the two up. Upstairs was just as simple; the master bedroom on one side, a smaller room on the other, and a decent-sized bathroom between the two at the back. The garden wasn’t huge, but like many of the surrounding houses it backed directly onto the woods with a gate for access.

 

Aziraphale beamed when they’d finished looking around, and ran a hand across a shiny countertop. “You’ve got your lovely kitchen,” he said.

 

“Yeah,” said Crowley, surveying the space with no small amount of pride.

 

It hadn’t exactly started out as his intention to take charge with the house, but as he’d been the one with a place in mind, it had sort of turned out that way. Aziraphale had been nervous of upstairs or downstairs noticing if they both kept disappearing off for days, and although Crowley had been extremely reluctant to leave them, he’d agreed that it might be best if Aziraphale kept his movements to a minimum for a while. It was exactly the kind of thing that caused him to despise the other angels, although he did not know (or remember) any of them in particular. How could they think Aziraphale would cause anybody any real harm? And if they could not accept him, then why couldn’t they just leave him alone? Why had they allowed themselves to remain so totally isolated from life on Earth – the very creation She had made? Why couldn’t any of these people just have some, small amount of bloody _imagination_?

 

“Darling?” asked Aziraphale, looking worried. “Are you all right?”

 

Crowley realised that he must have been glaring into space for some time, and he shook his head and shot Aziraphale a reassuring smile. “Let’s take a walk,” he said. “See your trees.”


End file.
